


somnambulist - (j.m/reader)

by inanawins



Category: Sherlock (TV), bbc - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-22
Updated: 2018-10-23
Packaged: 2019-08-05 22:23:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16376108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inanawins/pseuds/inanawins
Summary: som·nam·bu·lism /sämˈnambyəˌlizəm/submit noun noun: somnambulism sleepwalking.origin late 18th century:from french somnambulisme, from latin somnus 'sleep' + ambulare 'to walk.'—some of the ideas for this story and inspired by TheLiveshipParagon’s “The Great Game”. it's an amazing story, so make sure to check it out as well!





	1. before the first chapter -

hi! i'm the author of this book, and my name is aiyana. im certain a majority of people will skip this, but for those who don't i thank you for heading my words. this story, all written by me, is going to be a wild ride. my publishing schedule might be a bit shaky, but i will try my hardest to post once a week at the least. i essentially only use ao3 for publishing stories, and reading them. however, if you want to reach me, with questions, comment, suggestions, feel free to reach out to me-  
wattpad : inanawins - i post updates of my book, as well as the chapters there.  
instagram : inanawinss - it's a bunch of shitposting, but im always available to talk  
twitter : inanawins - i check this about once a week, sometimes less, but still feel free to reach out.  
kudos, and comments are always appreciated. i'll post the first chapter directly after this.  
have a good day,  
aiyana:)


	2. I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> we learn just how you interact with the great sherlock holmes, and you meet the devil incarnate

It was an enlightening feeling, though still terrifying, to be tiptoeing around death. Quite literally in this situation. You had somehow managed to climb your way to the roof of St. Bartholomew's Hospital. You stood on the edge of the building, your toes dangling over the edge ever so slightly, your shoelaces untied and swaying softly in the cool breeze that had befallen the London night. The reality of the situation that you found yourself in, was anything but. It was fiction, a world thought up by your head during a particularly good cycle of REM sleep. It felt real, as if you were really out in the streets of London in the middle of the night. Your arms lay at your sides, the sleeves of your sweatshirt dangling past your fingertips. You felt yourself swaying, back and forth, back and forth. 

Then, you woke up. You expected to be inside of the comfort of your flat, underneath a duvet, but instead you found yourself on the edge of the hospital, as if you had never woken up. Except the streets weren’t peaceful, nor silent, as there was a crowd gathering around the hospital, screaming, crying, trying to wake you. You were awake, and paralyzed in fear. God, you were awake. You wobbled slightly where you stood, before you came to your senses and scrambled to get off of the thin ledge that could have easily led to your demise. Your (e/c) eyes stared at your feet, your knees trembling as you attempted to get a grasp on what happened. Your still foggy mind failed to fathom what happened, but you were able to remember the events that had led to your current situation. 

You had worked a late night at St. Bartholomew’s, as your co-worker and fellow Specialist registrar Molly Hooper had left early for a date. With whom, you didn’t bother to ask. You had kept yourself awake until the witching hour, where you had grown so fatigued that you fell asleep with your back to the wall and your knees pulled to your chest. At some point during your sleep, you had stood up and climbed the flight of stairs that led to the roof. That part was the most terrifying, as you hadn’t had a sleepwalking incident in nearly 3 months. 

With your dignity shattered and your legs trembling, you trudged your way to the stairwell, your pace was slow and nervous as you stumbled down the stairs. Your breathing was ragged and weak, as you attempted once more to wrap your head around your situation. You ran your nimble fingers through your hair with a weary sigh as you pushed open the door the the lab. The clock on the wall read 4:18 am. In the end you had barely gotten an hour of sleep. It was something you were accustomed to, but that doesn’t mean that you were happy. 

 

You spent the rest of the morning bent over a microscope, your eyes focused on the small specimens that you studied. Several hours passed, and you heard the door to the lab slam open, and feet scuttling. You raised your head, squinting your eyes as you tried to blink away the tiredness you felt. At the door of the lab stood Consulting Detective Sherlock Holmes, and Doctor John Watson. Your co-worker, Molly Hooper, however, was nowhere in sight. You let out a tired sigh, as you stood up and quietly approached Sherlock and John. 

“Pleasure to see you again, (y/n)” The doctor said curtly, a kind smile tugging at his lips.

“It’s been a while hasn-“

“Where is Molly?” the detective interjected, his hands folded neatly behind his back as his eyes bore into your soul.

“She hasn’t arrived at work yet. For a supposed genius you are quite dull.” You mumbled the last part to yourself, as you gently folded your arms across your chest with a challenging look in your eyes, “Now, what is it that you need? Or, should I say whom, assuming that you are here to examine a body?”

“Correct. Get me the body of Connie Prince.” Sherlock insisted, as he paced around the lab.

“A please would be nice.” You retorted with a huff.

“Oh, come on, this is Sherlock Holmes we’re talking about here. He’s never asked for anything in his life.” The doctor commented with a good natured roll of his eyes. You gave a soft nod, as a miniscule smile tugged at the corners of your lips.

“You’re right, I mean after all everything that he wants is given to him. Say, we should make him work to get the body.” You held a mischievous glint in your eyes, as you turned your attention back to the pretentious consulting detective. You could hear John snickering rather loudly,

“Give me 15 pounds and I’ll let you see the body.” You challenged, your eyes narrowed as you took a step closer to Sherlock.

“I’ll give you 10.” Sherlock retorted as he took a step towards you

“14”

“11”

“13”

“12” You both said at the same time. At this point, you were chest to chest, your faces mere inches apart. This sudden realization made you stiffen only slightly, but you immediately relaxed, letting out a tiny breath. “…and a hug. I want a hug too.” you added on softly, leaning forward just a little more so that your noses touched. 

“Deal.” Sherlock whispered, his voice low and husky, a glint of success, and something else that you couldn’t quite detect shining in his eyes. Then, without warning- though you should have expected it given the deal made just seconds before- he wrapped his long arms around you in a warm embrace. You felt yourself melting into his touch, as a small, content smile wove its way onto your lips. The embrace felt foreign for the detective, but he couldn’t deny that he was enjoying it. You slightly rested your head against his warm chest, a quiet, shaky sigh escaping from your lips. The day had been stressful, and honestly this was what you needed. 

“You’re stressed. Why?” Sherlock deduced quietly, his eyes full of curiosity. You had always confused him, because for some reason he knew virtually nothing about you, despite your friendship. His head ran with possible ideas, but none of them seemed to fit. He observed your face, and he noticed the light bags underneath your (e/c) eyes. You shivered slightly, nibbling on your bottom lip as you debated telling him. You sucked up your courage,

“I’m- not sure if you knew this- though you probably do- I’ve- well, I’ve always kind of had an issue with sleepwalking, and normally I don’t even leave the flat. But, today, for the first time in three months, I sleepwalked, and I ended up on the roof, nearly falling to my death.” You let out a weary chuckle, though it was sarcastic to a point that it seemed to make you more upset, “So, I ended up just keeping myself awake, until you or Molly got here.” you finished, as you let out yet another laugh, shaking your head with a sigh. 

“How did you even get to the roof in the- wait… (y/n), did you sleep here?” Sherlock’s eyes held the slightest but of concern, as he subconsciously pulled you closer to him.

“I worked until 3 am, because Molly left for a date and there was so much work that needed to be done. I guess I got too tired and passed out.” you explained, as you shrugged your shoulders a little, letting yourself relax against Sherlock briefly. Sherlock let out a small sigh, as his eyes flickered down to you once more. There was something about you that he couldn’t quite place his finger on. “Uhm… you can keep your money, by the way, the hug was all I really needed.” you mumbled, your fingers trembling slightly as you looked up at him briefly.

“Ah, alright.” Sherlock placed his money back in his wallet, watching you with a tiny smile tugging at the corners of his lips, but he hid it by simply lowering his head. He noticed that John had disappeared a while ago, probably sometime during your displays of sentiment. Sentiment. A chemical defect that was always on the losing side. Oh well, he could deal with losing for a small amount of time if it meant helping a close friend. He stood with you in his arms for a few more minutes, letting himself enjoy the feeling, until you let out a small laugh.

“What’s so funny, (l/n)?” He questioned, referring to you by your last name.

“Oh, nothing. It’s just… you, the famous consulting detective who claims to be a ‘high functioning sociopath’, is hugging me, and you seem happy about it, too. Is that sentiment I see in your eyes?” you hummed playfully, gently poking his chest.

“I’m not the one laying my head against my chest and smiling like an idiot.” Sherlock teased, as he gently stroked your hair, before gently pulling away from the embrace, a laugh rumbling in his chest as you looked up at him with playful eyes. 

“Thank you for that, Sher~” you knew just how much he hated when you called him that, so you would always annoy him with it. You grabbed his hand for a moment, giving it a quick squeeze before quickly dropping it. “Now, Connie Prince you wanted to see her correct? Right this way.” You hummed, as you started to walk away. 

 

Sherlock and John had left a few hours later, once they finished examining the body and such. You were left alone with your thoughts. That is, until Molly Hooper burst through the door with a tired look.

“God, (y/n)! I am so sorry I’m in late. I overslept, and I missed the bu-“

“It’s alright, Molly, I get it. You missed Sherlock and John, though.” You commented, as you took a sip of coffee that you had gotten from John, who graciously donated the caffeinated beverage. Molly held a disappointed look on her face upon hearing that she missed them. “But, I think I’m gonna call it a day, as I haven’t been to my flat in a while.” You stated flatly, as you retrieved your stuff, and walked out of the morgue with a curt nod in Molly’s direction. 

As you walked back to your flat, you had this feeling as if you were being watched, for what reason, you had no idea. It was an odd, disturbing feeling, as you shivered slightly.

“Cold?” asked a smooth, irish voice from behind you. You jumped a bit, and let out a weary laugh, turning on your heel to look at the man who spoke. 

“A little, I guess. Not that I can’t handle it.” You said, your voice slightly on edge, as you still were a little jumpy after he had snuck up on you. 

“Let me help you with that.” The man responded, his voice turning into something similar to poison, his eyes darkening slightly. He grabbed something from behind his back, and your eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Sorry, my dear.” You let out sounds of protest as he grabbed you by the arm and pulled you towards him. You started to try to kick and push away from him, even managing to throw a right hook that hit him square in the jaw, but suddenly all you could smell was chloroform and your eyes rolled into the back of your head. 

 

Your fingers twitched slightly, as your eyes fluttered open slightly. You could see dark figures dancing around your vision for a few moments as your eyes adjusted to the dark setting. You wiggled your wrists slightly, feeling a ragged and scratchy surface rubbing against them. Rope. You let out a small sigh, leaning your head back for a moment.

“Come on out, asshole. I know you’re there.” You demanded bravely, as you rolled your head back to its original position. 

“Now, now. Is that any way to talk to your savior?”

“Captor. You mean captor.”

“It’s all the same in the end.” His irish voice rang throughout the otherwise quiet room. You let out a little grumble, as you leaned your head back a little, staring at the ceiling, 

“What do you want from me you psychopath?” the way you said those words held so much malice, and you could hear him let out an almost feral growl, 

“Say that again, call me a psychopath. Insult me.” he stepped out of the shadows, an erotic look on his face. He stood in front of you, his lips upturned in a smirk.

“I asked you a question. What do you want from me?” your demanding voice wavered slightly, as you stared the irishman in the eyes. His brown, almost black eyes scanned over your body, as his smirk widened into a full blown grin.

“All will be answered in time. Now, tell me, dear. What’s your name. I went out on a limb taking you, the least you can do is tell me your name.” he hummed, his facing holding some sort of innocence, as if he didn’t kidnap you. You let out a huff of annoyance,

“My name is Fuck You Jones, nice to meet you.” you hissed out, narrowing your eyes at him.

“Oh, oh! I like you already, That fire in your eyes, my god.” He continued to talk to himself, as he circled around you as if he was a predator, and you his defenseless pray. Your eyes narrowed, as you curled your hands into fists.  
“(y/n)... (y/n (l/n).” you eventually mumbled, as you stared up at the irishman in front of you.

“Jim Moriarty, consulting criminal, napoleon of crime, at your service.” He gave a dramatic bow, a smirk on his face. “You can call me Moriarty.”  
“Alright, Moriarty-“ you practically hissed out his name, as you dug your fingernails into your palms, “Why am I hear?”

“Oh, my. The way you say my name, with such malice. Oh, I’m gonna keep you.” He grabbed your chin roughly, the pads of his fingers digging into your skin.  
“Welcome to my game, my little somnambulist~” he cooed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi, me again! this is the end of the first chapter is of this book, and the second chapter is in draft as we speak, once again, i'll try my best to stick to an uploading schedule, but alas, i have a life and sometimes may be too busy to update.  
> have a good day,  
> aiyana:)


	3. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> you get to learn more about moriarty, and just how he feels about you

Your eyes widened just slightly, as your (e/c) eyes scanned across Moriarty’s figure, “How did you know?” your voice was quiet, unsure. He let out a long, deep laugh at this,

“Oh, oh! You must think you are special, huh? Me kidnapping you personally? No, no my dearest. I only discovered your existence mere hours ago, after your little incident at St. Bart’s. Isn’t it enlightening? Being inches from death?” He let out a hum, his words holding that of pleasure, as if he got off thinking about death. “I figured that you would be a fantastic addition to my little game that I’m playing with a certain detective, but, now that I’ve met you, I don’t think I want to let you go.” He once again gripped your chin in his hands, staring you in the eyes. You kept yourself calm, taking deep breaths as you stared right back at him, your eyes challenging him, just asking him to do something. 

“Don’t you think it’s a tad rude kidnapping a completely innocent woman just for the purpose of an intellectual pissing contest with Sherlock-Fucking-Holmes, Moriarty?” You spit out, your voice taking on an even harsher edge as you spit out his name.

“A pristine young lady such as yourself should never use language such as that.” He teased, a look of lust spinning in his deep brown eyes, “My goodness, (y/n), you’re just a gift that keeps on FUCKING giving!” he rolled his eyes into the back of his head for a moment, “Sherlock better save you, because I’m going to keep you all to myself. You are mine now, my little somnambulist. Say goodbye to your mundane little life, and say hello to the best thing that will ever happen to you. I almost feel bad knowing that I’m going to be strapping explosives to you.” He hummed the last part innocently, as if he hadn’t just announced to you that you could be blown to nothing but shards of skin and strawberry jam in a matter of seconds.

“I hope that he doesn’t manage to save me. I’d rather be turned into strawberry jam and sold worldwide then spend another fucking minute with you, Moriarty.” you hissed out. 

“That fire in your eyes,” he mutters, turning his head in a curious manner. “You are facing certain death and you continue tofight, hmmm? There must be some fear in there, yet you default to insulting me. Everyone else just begged. They begged and begged. They begged for their life, (y/n). BEG FOR YOUR LIFE!” The unexpected volume change made you flinch slightly as he roared in your face. The anger on his face was gone just as quickly as it appeared and he was studying your reaction. He was like a feral animal, with no remorse whatsoever. You let out an annoyed growl at his words,

“Oh just hurry up and put the fucking vest on me already, Moriarty. I am done with your bullshit.” you snarl, “If I’m going to die, why not make it fast and easy for the both of us.” you grumbled, staring at him with pure, unadulterated hatred in your eyes.

“Such a little liar,” he chuckles, shaking hishead. “You don’t really want to die, you’re just trying to seem like a special snowflake. Do you want to hurt me, (y/n)?”

 

“Without a doubt,” you answer bluntly, putting as much hatred as you could into those words.

 

“Go on then,” he challanges, a sly smirk on his lips, as he reaches behind your back and begins to untie your arms and legs. “I’ll give you one freebie. Call it a gift.” he hummed, as he finished untying you. You stood up quickly, your hands tightened into fists, 

“Alright then,” you call him out on his bluff. He takes a step backwards, opening his arms up wide so that he is completely defencless. As he does this, he’s studying what move you’re going to make. Testing whether you would chicken out or actually go through with it. You don’t chicken out. Instead, you step forward and give him a right hook that you’re father would have applauded you for. Moriarty blusters for a second, stumbling backwards, before bursting out into a deep, loud laughter. 

“Oh, oh (y/n)!” He growls out, as the sexual connotation in his words reach a record breaking high. Upon this realization, your gut clenches in utter horror, watching his moves closely, a mix of fear, and full blown rage in your eyes. Quicker than you would have given him, or anyone for that matter, credit for, he grabs your (h/c) hair by the roots and slams his lips to yours, growling with a demented ferocity before pulling away, an erotic look plastered on his face. He was that of a feral animal, one to be feared.

“If Sherlock doesn’t save you, I’ll kill him,” Moriarty states simply. “I want to play another game. A game with just you and me, (y/n). And oh....the fun we’ll have.” He pushes you backwards softly until you land back onto the chair behind you as he pulls the bomb vest over your head and tightens the straps before tying the rope around your arms and legs once more. “Now,” Moriarty pauses, as he places a small pager on your lap, so that you could read it, but not touch it, “Please do make an effort to keep yourself alive. Say anything but what's on the pager, try to describe me in any way, I will blow you to smithereens.” he hummed innocently, making explosion like gestrations with his hands, as he peered into your narrowed eyes, “Oh! I should mention that if you so much as move incorrectly,” you saw about 5, small red dots aiming at you, “well, I’m sure you can put two and two together, huh?” he giggled, as he gently pressed a finger to his temple, tapping it. 

“Oh, yeah. I bet that you’d just love to see my insides splattered across these pristine, white walls, wouldn’t you, you sick fuck?” You spit out, your eyes narrowing even further. Once again, he tapped his temple, but in a warning way, 

“Please do try to not disappoint me, my dear. I would absolutely hate to see you turn out to be just like everybody else. You’re just so intriguing. I would hate to see you turn out to be so unbelievably bland.” Moriarty hummed, as he tapped his pointer finger against your nose, “Let’s hope our Sherlock is as smart as he thinks. Ta ta!~” he giggled, as he cupped your face, placing an almost affectionate kiss on the top of your head. And with that, he disappeared into the darkness. You let out a little sigh, as you stared at the pager that sat on your knee. Suddenly, you heard the sound of a phone dialing,

“Hello? Hello? Is anybody there?” You heard the voice of your dear friend, Sherlock Holmes, and you cringed just slightly. “Hello? I can hear you breathing!” he rambled, as you looked down at the pager, 

“This one, there's something special about her. Tell me all that you can about my little somnambulist, and perhaps she’ll live,” you read out, recoiling slightly at the last few words of the sentence that you read. 

“Oh my- (y/n), is that you? Jesus- are you okay?” Sherlock’s voice was laced with worry.

“Ah, so you know her? That’s rather interesting, she never told me she knew you. Nevertheless, tell me every detail about her, or she gets blasted into pieces. Since you know her, you have only four hours. The clock is ticking!” you read out, trying to feign the excitement that Moriarty expressed through his words. The line disconnected, and you let out a sigh, leaning your head back. The snipers aim was steady, focusing on your head, while others focused on your arms, legs and chest. You closed your eyes, and inhaled deeply.

“Is it completely necessary to have my tied up to this chair? I mean, god forbid I want to be comfortable.” You complained to nobody in particular, as you rest your head against the back of the chair. Suddenly, a thought came into your head, that perhaps there were security cameras in the cold, white room. Testing this theory, you wiggled your arms, so that they now sat in your lap, before raising one hand, and flipping the (probably) non existent camera the bird. You lowered your hand after a few moments, and waited for something to happen. It was silent for a good minute, and you started to give up hope. 

“Aren’t you a ball of sunshine,” Moriarty says, his voice clearly showing that he was amused by your actions. “Didn’t your mother teach you manners?”

 

“Because strapping a girl into a bomb vest is so chivalrous,” you spat.

“Touché,” he chuckles. “Your gestures a futile, however. It’s most certainly not going to change the fact that you have, oh... about 3 hours and 48 minutes left.” he hummed, the speaker crackling as he did so. 

“Oh I cannot wait until Sherlock Holmes saves me,” you hissed out, as you stared right at the camera that you had spotted moments before, “I’ll never leave his side again.” You finished, your eyes narrowed in challenge. 

DON’T SAY HIS NAME!” Moriarty roars down the speaker and it’s almost deafening. “Why not?!” you hiss back.

 

“No boring detective is worth your precious time. Don’t ever speak of him again.” 

“Are you....jealous?” you raise an eyebrow, knowing that he could see every litrle thing that you did.

 

“Do you really need me to spell it out for you,(y/n)? If you survive this, you’re mine. Nobody else's. You are going to need someone who’s able to push your skills, your mental limits and guess who that is?” 

“You?” you scoffed in disbelief, with a roll of your eyes.

“Aw… don’t say it like thattt,” you could hear the pout in his voice clear as day. “I promise you won’t be miserable. You’ll have the time of your life with me!” He giggled softly.

“There might not be much of my left to enjoy, and I’m sure as hell not happy right now.” you spat, lowering your head with a soft huff.

“Oh, shush, I’m sure that he will impress. After all, he’s your friend. Wait…” you could hear an anger rising in his voice, “Are you two… DATING?” he practically screamed through the intercom, causing you to cringe slightly at the noise.

“Oh, hell no. He isn’t really my type, in fact he’s kind of a pretentious asshole.” you shrugged your shoulders, as if this conversation was completely normal. 

“Oh, goodie! That means that I really do get you to myself!” he giggled happily, and you heard the clapping of his hands, “You’ll get to talk to him soon enough. Until then, sit tight.”

 

“Like I can sit any other way,” you huff. Moriarty bursts into a deep fit of laughter before the speakers cut off and you’re left to your own thoughts once more. 

 

You had sat in complete silence for about an hour, and it took its toll on you. You fell asleep in the chair, your head leaned against your own shoulder, letting out tiny snores, it was unbelievably peaceful. 

“WAKEY WAKEY, EGGS AND BAKEY!” You shot up, Moriarty yelling into the intercom.

“Jesus fucking christ!” you scream out, your pupils blown wide as you stare at the camera, “What the fuck, Moriarty?” you yell, enraged.

“Aw, don’t get mad. We have to call Sherlock again. Figured I would take the liberty of waking you up as nicely as possible.” he hummed innocently, you could hear the smirk in his voice. 

“Let’s get this over with.” you groaned, as you heard the dialing of the phone once more, and the intercom crackling, and turning off. 

“Hello? (y/n), are you alright?” Sherlock’s voice sounded worried, but confident as he spoke. 

“Have you learned all that you can about my darling somnambulist? I want to know every last detail about her!” you read out, once again attempting to match the enthusiasm that Moriarty wrote.

“Yes, of course. (y/n) (m/n) (l/n), the only child of Mr. and Mrs (l/n). She moved into 221C Baker Street several years before me, and has been there ever since. With a major in Culinary Arts, and a minor in criminology, she cooks some of the greatest food I have ever tasted. She lives alone, reads often, and she works at a small diner. She’s not rich but comfortable, keeps a large collection of statues from cultures around the world and she often speaks before she thinks…” Sherlock continued to ramble on about random facts about you, until you had to cut him off,

“Enough, enough! What are you, a stalker?” you snickered a small bit yourself. “She’s in a garage on Violet Way. Tell me everything that you can when you find her, and, while you’re at it, explain why she is so similar to us. Why she is so smart, but on an emotional level. You have an hour left, Sherly~ Tick tock!” you read, finishing with a small hum, as you crossed your arms in front of you, the phone disconnecting. You let out a small, quiet sigh as you lowered your head.

“Honey, I’m home!” came a loud shout from Moriarty, as he slammed the door to the room open. You snorted quietly, shaking your head,

“Oh, honey my ass!” you snapped back. You were honestly quite suprised that he was so close to your location. Part of you expected him to be somewhere across the country.

“You’re surprised.” Moriarty observed, seemingly taking mental notes, “Did you believe that I wouldn’t be near?” he questioned, scratching his chin quizzically. 

“Wouldn’t that mean you would get caught in the blast as well? I thought that you’d have a higher self preservation streak than that,” you challenge. He walks up directly to you before straddling your lap. You recoil a little at this action. 

“It’s adorable that you believe that I fear death. No no, in fact I’d welcome it. If it’s my time then…I shall stop my own clock,” his voice was serious, and slightly annoyed, as if this was the most obvious thing in the world. A sudden realization hit you,

“Oh, my god. You’re depressed. You’re literally fucking suicidal. That’s why you’re doing this. It’s your own suicide note. Holy fuck, you’re depressed!” you exclaimed. 

Moriarty smiled like a child, as if he had just been told that he could have more candy. He was absolutely ecstatic. “Awww you noticed! You actually understand! My smart little somnambulist. Life is so dull, excruciatingly dull when you’re as clever as I am.” he pouted a little, as if this fact saddened him in some way. 

“So, you are making your own kind of entertainment before killing yourself. You want to leave an impression.” you noted, as you stared into his eyes. 

“Exactly. Who would’ve thought that the little waitress with a sleeping disorder and a love for travel would see right through me? (y/n), I’m starting to reallllly like you. Sherlock better get here soon because I want to keep you allll to myselffffff.” he hummed, elongating your name as he said it. He gently strokes your cheek, almost affectionately as he gazed at you with an unreadable expression.

 

“Is this romantic feelings I’m experiencing?” he talks to himself more than you. “Hm… this won’t do, no, not at all. We can’t have this.” He launches forward, crushing his lips to yours again in that passion-filled, deranged way he did before. However, he slowly starts trailing kisses down your neck until he hits the spot where your collarbone and neck meet. A sharp pain slams into you as he bites down hard on your neck. So hard, in fact, that you start squirming before he finally lets go of you. “See that?” he gestures to the purple that was forming rather quickly. “Just a reminder for you when Sherlock arrives. You are mine now, (y/n). Nobody elses. Mine, and I’ll be coming for you soon. Ta ta!~” His eyes are glittering with lust and mischief as he moves off you and casually saunters out of the door.

 

“Go to hell, you dick!” you called after him, placing a hand on your neck, wincing slightly. Holy fuck, that hurt. You attempt to turn your head, but you only manage to see the vicious mark out of the corner of your eyes. You let out a sigh, leaning back and just waiting for whatever was going to happen. 

It felt like your time was nearly over, when the door crashes open again and you snap your head, to see your friends Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, along with several bomb squad teams trailing behind and Greg Lestrade following closely behind Sherlock and John. 

“Can you say anything to me?” Sherlock asks you directly. Smart man. He was trying to establish the rules of this game. You say nothing but you hoped that you were conveying everything you needed to through your eyes. “Right,” he blusters for a second. “John, how long?”

 

“Twenty minutes,” John says looking at his watch. “Hurry up, Sherlock.” John walked to your side, a said smile on his face, “Are you alright, (y/n)? Sherlock and I have been worried sick.” his smile morphed into a frown, as you gave him a sad smile. “Alright. Sherlock, hurry up and get her out of here.” He demanded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you enjoyed this chapter, i know it came out quick, but i hope it's okay. have a nice day:)


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